


Going Once

by fullmoon_nightowl



Series: masquerade [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, POV Outsider, Sibling Incest, Slave auction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmoon_nightowl/pseuds/fullmoon_nightowl
Summary: Graham’s been running the most notorious underground auction in the hunter scene for years. But tonight's main item is special: The last one of Yellow Eyes’ children. Still Graham hadn’t thought that Dean Winchester himself would show up and wreak havoc on the auction.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: masquerade [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1250426
Comments: 14
Kudos: 116
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Going Once

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt in the sixth round of the spn_masquerade on livejournal: Dean buys Sam at a slave market.

Graham is looking forward to the next item. The boy is tall with surprisingly broad shoulders for an otherwise lanky frame. He’s got a pretty face with fox-tilted eyes and long, shiny hair. When he smiles, he’s even got dimples. And he’s psychic with the fairly harmless powers of premonitions. A freak, but easy to control. Graham’s going to get an excellent price.

“Alright assholes, listen up” he roars and the old barn filled with people quiets down. Some hunters are here, lots of collectors. The hunters sometimes look for freaks to train with, to develop weapons, to take their anger out on something, or just get some good old fashioned r’n’r. Graham has a cute little vampire girl at home, he doesn’t judge. The collectors, well, they all have their different schtick. Either way, that boy he has, he’s got something that brings the highest price. Unbroken beauty and spirit.

Graham yanks the boy forward on the chain connected to the cuffs around his wrists. He yanks a little harder than necessary, and the kid looks up for a moment, sending Graham a heated look. Oh yeah, that kid’s still angry.

“You see that?” Graham yells. “This one’s full of fire!”

The kid’s jaw twitches and he looks down, his long brown hair falling into his face.

“Now this one here, he’s a special one,” Graham declares. “He’s one of the psychic kids.”

A murmur goes through the crowd.

“Bullshit,” Chris Tanner yells. “There aren’t any left! Gordon killed them all!”

“No, no,” Graham says. “This one here is one of Yellow Eyes’ freak kids. Tame, as far as powers go, just little premonitions. But he’s an original demon-blood-fed freak.”

They’d taken Yellow Eyes out two years ago, but the name still draws the crowds.

“Name’s Andrew Gallagher. He didn’t want to give his real name, told me he was Keith, but I found his driver’s license in his bag. He’s the right age, mommy burned at the ceiling.” Graham points at the kid. “Because of this little devil. He’s been in hiding for the last two years, ever since the cemetery, but my boys sussed him out.” Graham pauses for effect. “And I have personally seen him have a dream vision. I think he’s a little warbled because he kept mumbling about green eyes, not yellow, but hey. He’s the real deal!”

The people in the hall start talking agitatedly, and Graham can see some of the collectors looking very interested. Oh yeah, this one will fetch a nice price.

“Because I like you so much, I will start the bidding at ten grand.”

“Fifteen!” one of the collectors immediately yells and then they’re off.

Not a lot of hunters are bidding, but that’s probably because they know the collectors have more cash and they want this one bad. The bids grow higher and higher and only start to slow down when they reach almost a hundred. Two collectors are the only ones left bidding.

“A hundred grand,” Magnus yells.

Silence.

“A hundred grand it is,” Graham says happily when no one else moves. “Going once, going twice, going—”

“A hundred-ten.” The voice is rough and deep and comes from the entrance of the barn.

Everyone in the room turns towards the entrance and a murmur goes through the room. Graham tries to but can’t see the newcomer yet. The kid next to him has gone tense. It seems he knows something Graham doesn’t. Interesting.

“A hundred and twenty,” Magnus says in a bored voice, not bothering to look around.

“A hundred and fifty,” the newcomer calls from the back.

With a snarl, Magnus turns around. “Two hundred.”

“Three hundred.” The voice is calm and deep.

“Five hundred,” Magnus bites out.

A snort.

Magnus flinches, stares in outrage.

The crowd parts and Graham can finally see the other bidder.

A man in his late twenties, tall and broad-shouldered. Jeans, a flannel shirt, and an old leather jacket. Strong jaw with stubble, big eyes, short light brown hair. A jagged scar on his forehead. He walks towards the stage with a self-assured, bow-legged swagger.

Dean Winchester.

“You,” Magnum hisses. “You don’t have that kind of money.”

Winchester shrugs. “Maybe I don’t.”

“Then your bids are invalid,” Magnus shrieks. “Graham, throw him out.”

Graham opens his mouth but can’t say anything. Anyone else and he would’ve sicced his hellhounds on him. But Winchester is one of the greatest hunters who ever lived. He was the one who took the shot that killed Yellow Eyes. The guy’s a living legend. And, from everything Graham heard about him, he’s good. Good and ruthless. You don’t cross Dean Winchester unless you have a death wish. Even Gordon eventually stopped running with him. Too volatile, he said.

Winchester jerks his chin at the boy. “He’s the last one. And he’s mine.”

The kid’s hands ball to fists, but his expression remains stoic.

Graham purses his lips, tries to think of a way to get out of this without either pissing off one of the richest and most powerful collectors or one of the most dangerous hunters.

Winchester stretches out his arms, turns in a circle. “Do I not deserve this?” he yells at the crowd. “Has my family not paid our dues? My mother, my father, my baby brother, all killed by Yellow Eyes. And he would have brought down the apocalypse if I hadn’t taken him out. I saved all your sorry asses, all of them.” Winchester turns back towards the stage. “This is all I ask for. This kid.”

“Look, Winchester,” Graham starts.

Winchester gives him a charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Call me Dean.”

“Dean,” Graham says slowly and reminds himself that he really is not gay, no matter how pretty Winchester’s eyes are, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we appreciate what you and your family did. Your daddy was a hero and you more than filled his shoes. But I have a business to run. And I will not release this boy from my hellhound’s scent until I have gotten payment.”

Dealing in precious goods is a dangerous business and Graham learned early on that he needed good safety mechanisms. No one steals from him.

“Hm.” Dean nods. “Well, I always knew that you were a bloodsucking scumbag.”

Graham tries to damp down his anger. It won’t do to pick a fight with Winchester in front of everyone. “I’m just trying to run a business, I’m sure you can understand that. Why, Bobby Singer ran a successful operation himself.”

Dean shoots him a glare so hard and cold, the words die in Graham’s throat. He’s not a fearful man but bringing up Singer maybe hadn't been smart.

“No offense meant. Singer was one of a kind.”

The kid next to him snorts almost inaudibly. Graham doesn’t know whether that’s directed at himself or Singer.

“A trade then,” Winchester says finally. “Something more valuable than the eighty bucks in my wallet.”

“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” Magnus says. “Graham, can you—”

Lightning quick, Winchester spins around and punches Magnus in the face so hard, blood shoot from his mouth.

“You stop talking now or I will rip your lungs out.”

Magnus glares at him but is too busy dabbing at his nose to say anything. No one comes to his help either.

Graham ignores the incident and puts on a professional face. “Look, I appreciate it and I would love to help you out, but Magnus already bid a five hundred grand and—”

Magnus mutters something about how he’ll withdraw his highest bid due to Winchester’s being invalid, but his voice is muffled and Graham doesn’t listen because Winchester reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. A colt. An old western-style colt.

Graham can’t believe it. “That's not the real one,” he says.

With the ease of someone who handled guns his entire life, Winchester spins the colt in his hand, then holds it out to Graham, handle first.

“You have my word,” Winchester says. “It doesn’t work anymore, but this is the gun that killed Yellow Eyes.”

“No,” the kid breathes out.

Graham stares. He believes Winchester. And there is no way he can pass this up. The Colt is priceless. Invaluable. One of the greatest pieces of hunter history. And if someone were to fix it, the most powerful weapon in the world.

Next to him, the kid rattles his chains. He’s staring at Winchester openly for the first time. His glare his hard and full of disbelief.

Winchesters raises one eyebrow.

The kid huffs, like he’s _angry_. Graham wonders what kind of meaning the Colt holds to him.

Before Winchester can change his mind, Graham gives the kid a push so he stumbles forward to the edge of the stage.

“The Colt for the kid,” Graham says.

“Deal,” Winchester says.

Graham grins as the hall erupts in pandemonium. Graham’s going to get in some more security, just to be safe.

After the tumultuous last auction item, Graham needs a break. He steps out the back, his favorite hound Mr. Murray on his heels. He sits down on a crate in the corner, lights a smoke and revels in the knowledge that the Colt is safe and secure in his nastiest cursebox.

He’s only three drags in when the door opens, and Winchester and the kid come out. After he won the auction, people had flocked to Winchester, insisting on buying him drinks, needling him to recount the story of Yellow Eyes and hopefully other adventures.

Last he’d seen of him, Winchester had sat at the bar, the other hunters buying him drinks, the kid looming like a tall shadow behind him.

Graham lets the cigarette fall to his feet and steps on it. Then he pulls Mr. Murray in closer so the mutt doesn’t make a noise. Graham’s always been a curious guy—keeps you alive in his line of work— and he can’t wait to figure out what Winchester wants with this kid.

“Dean,” the kid says, half-angry, half-plaintive.

So there _is_ a history there then.

“Sam,” Winchester says, his tone making it clear he wants the kid to shut up.

The kid—Sam—huffs.

“Hold out your hands,” Winchester says gruffly. He unlocks the chains, then rubs over Sam’s wrists.

Sam flinches.

“How long did that guy have you?”

“Three weeks,” Sam says quietly.

Winchester’s eyes narrow. “Did he—”

“No,” Sam says quickly and Graham is glad he never hurt the kid. Winchester would apparently not have liked that and no one wants to be the receiving end of Dean Winchester’s anger.

“Not that it matters,” Sam says dryly. “You know Dean, I’ve seen you pull a lot of dumb shit over the years, but this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

Winchester glares at Sam. “Oh, is it?”

Sam, it seems, is not afraid of him. “Yeah. I get that you hate me, but to give up the Colt, just for a chance to kill me.” Sam huffs and shakes his head.

“What?” Winchester looks stunned. “No, Sammy what are you talking about?”

Sammy? The plot thickens.

Sam shrugs. “It’s what you said the last time I saw you when I ran away. You told me that you never want to see me again or you’d kill me.”

Winchester shakes his head. “Sammy, I never meant that, you have to know that.”

Sam licks his lips. “I was kinda hoping. But…” Sam lets out a harsh laugh. “I wouldn’t blame you. What I did—I’m sorry, you know- I regret it every moment.”

Winchester looks down between them. “You do, huh?”

Sam nods. “I lost you. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut, I never should have—anyway. I, thank you. For saving me.”

“Of course.” Winchester's mouth pulls into a grim line. “I’m just sorry I didn't find you sooner.”

Sam shrugs. “You came for me. That’s all that matters.”

Winchester nods.

Silence stretches between them.

“If you can give me a ride, I can—” Sam starts, but he’s cut off when Winchester reaches out with one hand and pulls Sam’s head down to kiss him.

So that’s why he was after him so bad. An illicit hunter-monster affair. How very Romeo and Juliet of them.

For a moment, Sam goes with the kiss, then he pulls back with a gasp.

“Dean, what—”

“You weren’t the only one,” Winchester says hoarsely. “I—me too. Always. But I couldn’t. I had to protect you. I had to give you a shot at a normal life.”

“So you told me to leave and never come back.” Sam’s voice skips an octave. “Dean, I thought you hated me!”

“Sammy, I’m sorry, ‘kay, but I couldn't—it was hard enough saying no the first time, if you’d stayed, I just didn’t trust myself.” Winchester’s face is drawn in anguish. “And you were so young, Sammy, you didn’t know what you were doing, what you wanted.”

Sam shakes his head wildly, hair flying. “No, I did, Dean, I always did.”

“Yeah, well.” Winchester shrugs. “I wanted more for you than some fucked up thing between us that we’d have to hide for the rest of our lives. And I thought you’d be safe at Stanford. You’d get a normal life. Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

Sam takes a step towards Winchester and grips his jacket collar. “Screw normal. You were everything I ever wanted.”

Winchester nods. “I understand if it’s too late. I know—”

This time it’s Sam who shuts them up.

Their kiss goes on forever, hard and desperate, and Graham is getting a little uncomfortable, but he can't look away either. There’s something weirdly magnetic about these two, the way they move in sync as if they’ve never done anything else in their life, as if they’re two halves of a whole.

When they draw apart, breathing heavily, Sam laughs incredulously. “Can you imagine, how all this would have gone if I hadn’t left. Maybe we could have stopped it, all of it. Dad, Yellow Eyes—”

Winchester presses a short kiss to Sam’s mouth, then another. “No. We’re not going down that rabbit hole. I killed the fucker and you’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Sam leans down and lets his forehead rest against Winchester's. “Now what?”

“Now we go get you some new clothes and a shower. And then I was thinking we hit the road.” He looks up at Sam a little unsure almost. “Grand Canyon maybe?”

Sam beams.

Winchester rolls his eyes, but it looks fond. In sync, they pull back and turn away from the barn.

“Do you still have the car?” Sam asks as they walk away.

Winchester’s famous Chevy Impala, a magnificent machine.

“Course Sammy. Wouldn't be able to fit your sasquatch body anywhere else.”

“Good,” Sam says, voices fading. “I want to go home.”

Well. Unexpected as it may be, Graham is glad that he didn’t get between those two. He has no doubt that Winchester would have done anything to get his Sam back.

Three weeks later someone steals the Colt. There’s no trace of them. For a moment, Graham thinks of putting his hellhounds on the trail. Then he thinks of the intense emotions in Winchester’s eyes when he’d looked at Sam and lets it go. The Colt would have been a great paycheck, but it’s not worth his life.


End file.
